by J. F. Collen
Baker laughed and said, “If you mean has this escapade been premeditated, then yes! I stand guilty as charged. I told you when I first met you at the dock and retrieved your handkerchief that I wanted to take you to Flirtation Walk. I have dreamed of it ever since.”
Nellie stood still in his arms, remembering her first foray to West Point and the long-forgotten flirtatious exchange she had with this cadet. Mayhap he has merely rehearsed this scenario in his mind? she thought.
Lawrence, perhaps thinking her silence meant she had no further objections, slid his hand into the top of her sleeve and rubbed her bare shoulder with his palm, his thumb straying toward her breast. Nellie stepped back.
“You have stood in this exact spot and performed this exact maneuver before.”
The cadet’s hand froze. He flashed startled eyes at Nellie.
Nellie knew her answer.
“Well, butter my biscuit! I have not, I mean, would not....” Breathing heavy, Baker fumbled for words.
“Ahem,” Nellie said to silence him, and pulled further away. “I do feel a tremendous softness for you Cadet Baker. Howsoever, I do believe carrying on in this manner any further is detrimental to the fostering of this gently budding relationship. I would like to be escorted back to camp now.”
The cadet looked at her in disbelief. “I assure you....”
Nellie’s jaws tightened with that look of determination her family, at least, knew all too well.
“This response is hardly necessary,” said Baker, reaching for her hand.
But Nellie used that hand to tuck a stray hair into her elegant, coiffed curls, pat it, and pull up her shawl. She turned to go.
“I am departing back to camp now, with or without you,” she said.
She walked away, not really even caring that she heard no footsteps behind her.
Twice to the most romantic spot on the West Point campus and twice nothing to show for it! Why must I have this unerring knack for entangling myself in compromising positions with Southern Gentlemen? My penchant for Southerners must cease entirely, straightaway.
Chapter 25 – Color my World
West Point, August 1850
Nellie did not want to open her eyes. If she did, she would have to face the aftereffects of yet another humiliation on Flirtation Walk. Or any type of walk at West Point! She screwed her eyes tighter shut, turning her face into her pillow.
“Nellie,” called Anastasia from the front foyer of their West Point Hotel suite. “Nellie, look!”
Nellie put the pillow over her ears and kept her eyes shut.
Suddenly the pillow was lifted from her head and the formidable figure of her mother loomed over her. “Cornelia, rise this instant! Late evening hours must never keep a debutante from appearing fresh and chipper in the morning. Any lack of healthful sleep can be reclaimed during an afternoon nap.”
Mrs. Entwhistle leaned closer. “A little surprise just arrived for you which I am sure will rejuvenate your spirits and animate your morning. Come, gather yourself and take a look.”
Curiosity overcame her discomfiture and she followed her mother to the foyer, donning her silk dressing gown as she stumbled out of her room.
On the entry table was the largest bouquet of carnations Nellie had ever seen. Only a few of the flowers were the plant’s natural color of purplish pink. Other blossoms were white, red, and curiously, the majority were blue.
“Cadet Baker sent you flowers!” exclaimed Anastasia. “How blissfully romantic!”
Nellie ran to the flowers and gazed in wonder. There were so many blue carnations she began to count them, and then counted the others. “Thirty-six!” she announced. “But why? I cannot even hazard a guess.”
“What magic makes some of the carnations are blue?” asked Anastasia. “Wherever would one obtain blue carnations?”
“Horticulturists and expensive hot houses in The City cultivate carnations all year round in this day and age of progressive technology,” said Mrs. Entwhistle, her love of flowers evident in her knowledge. “They now have patents for growing carnations in red and white...but blue! That color is novel, even to me.”
Her mother pulled the card out of the bouquet and handed it to Nellie. “In any case, perchance a reading of the card might shed some light on the mystery?”
Nellie opened the envelope addressed:
To: Cornelia Rose Entwhistle,
From: Lawrence Simmons Baker, First Class.
The card read:
“Carnations for my little flower’s January month of birth.
Thirty-six for the year she first appeared, bringing the world mirth.
Rainbows of color, with a predominance of startling blue,
Color my world with the hope of courting lovely you.
In between her reverent praying, through her lowered lashes, she scanned the pews full of cadets for a glimpse of Baker.
Truth be told, she admitted to herself, instead of reverent praying, my thoughts dwell solely on that enigma, Cadet Lawrence Simmons Baker, and my emotions flit from tingles of delight to outrage at his behavior. She again perused the pews in front of her, but still could not detect the back of his head. She could not possibly look behind her without turning her back to the altar—a serious breach of etiquette. She sighed with frustration one too many times and received a glare from her mother. Unable to concentrate, her feelings for Baker leapfrogged from one extreme to the other.
At last she located him when she returned to her pew after Communion. She inhaled sharply, in an involuntary tribute to his tall good looks and lean muscular physique. He was kneeling near the back of the Church. Nellie knelt down, lowered her head, folded her hands under her chin, and leaned her elbows on the back of the pew in front of her, to allow her eyes to follow Baker as he walked down the aisle to receive the Sacrament. As she watched, the cadet stepped with an easy grace to the altar, back erect, hands angelically folded in front. There were no awkward, Elmer P. Otis-esque angles to this cadet! Nellie thought.
Baker looked directly at her on his way back to his pew and had the audacity to wink.
In Church!
Though truly, it is his wild, passionate behavior that so attracts me. She shook her head. Of all the thoughts for a lady to think, these are especially inappropriate in church. Oh! If I had my druthers I would allow him to sweep me off my feet in a mad passionate romance! Mercy, this is truly a ‘near occasion of sin.’ I had best avoid him on my way to the carriage. I must not allow my head to be turned even further.
But her mother, of all people, prevented her from carrying out that resolve.
Cornelia made a beeline for the waiting carriage only to see her mother interrupt her exchange of pleasantries with the pastor on the church steps and motion Baker to join her. After a few minutes conversation, her mother looked around and summoned Nellie to her side.
“Cornelia, I am sure you are anxious to thank this fine gentleman for the beautiful arrangement of flowers that arrived this morning, so I will step aside.” Mrs. Entwhistle turned to Baker. “But first I must ascertain how you were able to procure blue carnations in the dead of night?”
“My dear Mrs. Entwhistle, while I am loath to dispel the myth that I might have magical powers to conjure a rarity like blue carnations on a whim in the middle of the night....” Baker’s drawling voice oozed with charm and good upbringing. “...I do confess the appearance of these flowers was actually a well-planned and well-executed feat.”
“Do give us the particulars,” said Mrs. Entwhistle, flashing her rare smile. “I am sure the details will be just as bewitching as the thought that you charmed the little beauties from thin air.”
“I am afraid the details are rather dull—in fact, plebian. As you know I have corresponded with your daughter for some time now, and through our written exchange I have learned the intriguing fact that carnations are the flower of her birth month. Furthermore, I have deduced she has a penchant for bold, vivacious color. Therefore, last week, in anticip
ation of Miss Cornelia Rose’s arrival, I procured some carnations....”
“Quite the feat in and of itself, here in the north,” interjected Mrs. Entwhistle.
Baker smiled his acknowledgement of the compliment and continued, “I then employed my rudimentary knowledge of botany, obtained at this fine institution. I immersed the flowers in indigo dye for a week. The flowers drank the blue water and voila! Rare, blue carnations for a rare and precious flower of a lady.”
Mutter, at least, is positively smitten by this explanation, Nellie thought with a wry smile. Truly, I would be enchanted, but for that ungentlemanly exhibition last night on Flirtation Walk. It is no small matter.... ‘Tis a breach of conduct not easily overlooked.
Baker bowed to the ladies. Mrs. Entwhistle cast her eyes around the churchyard in search of her other daughter. Anastasia was giggling near the carriage with Zetus, and Mrs. Entwhistle turned to join them. “Won’t you join us to break fast?” she asked on her way past Baker, so assured of his affirmative reply she did not wait for it.
“That depends,” Baker said in a low voice to Mrs. Entwhistle’s retreating back. He picked up Nellie’s hand and looked into her eyes. “If you will forgive me for my transgressions last evening?” Baker held up his hand as Nellie opened her mouth to reply. “Bide a bit, and hear my plea. I am truly repentant for causing you any distress last night. Usually, I am quite deft at ascertaining the desires of my female companions....” Baker smiled at her.
“You have hit the nail on its head!” Nellie exclaimed. “I do not appreciate the thought that you have practiced these bold overtures on many unsuspecting ladies and that I am somehow an interchangeable commodity in your quest for intimate relations.” Nellie put her hands on her hips.
“Come, come, surely neither of us is a babe in the woods. A belle such as you surely has had a string of admirers?” Baker squeezed her hands.
Nellie could see that she was not making herself clear. “You have confirmed my unfortunate experience, and proven my conclusion that Southern Gentlemen do not live up to our northern standards of gentlemanly behavior,” she said and pulled her hands away.
Baker’s voice dropped a whole octave. “You cannot fault me, my sweet primrose, for I am a man with manly urges and desires.” Baker leaned closer and almost panted in her ear.
“Mayhap I can,” Nellie said, through compressed lips. She tightened her shoulders on her already ramrod straight back and continued, “In private we can reflect upon these feelings. However, they are best held in check until we have clarified the intentions of both parties.”
“Surely, I say surely, you understand it is a compliment to you. Your beauty is simply so compelling....” Baker paused. His quick scrutiny of Nellies face enlightened him that his line of reasoning was only repelling her further.
He tried a different tack. “I am truly smitten with you Cornelia Rose, and I aspire to prove my intentions are both honorable and desirable. Shall you not find it in the goodness of your heart to offer me another chance?”
Nellie considered for a second. All of today’s activities will be chaperoned by Mutter. I suppose I should allow Lawrence the opportunity to redeem himself. If only for the hope of dancing with him again!
She nodded her consent and took his elbow. They walked to the carriage, Nellie smiling in anticipation of the afternoon concert, dancing in the arms of the charming, lissome Southerner.
Chapter 26 – It’s Christmas Time in the City
Sing Sing, December 1850
It is magical! thought Nellie.
The soft, late-arriving dawn projected sunlight slants of buttery yellow, warming the accumulated snow’s brilliant white to a cozy ecru. The beauty of the snow and the twinkling of the frost sent Nellie’s mind into a romantic fairyland. Could there be a finer view from any girl’s garret window? she wondered. Saint Paul’s church bells chimed a quarter past the hour. She imagined she could see the musical chimes floating through the cold and frosty morning, perching on rooftops, wafting up the hill to her window, and then undulating down the hill to the river. A plethora of boats, from canoes and rowboats to the grand steamship Rip van Winkle crowded the port. Her dreamy eyes wandered over the docks’ intense activity. Holiday wreaths, bows, and garlands strung on countless sloops, barges and schooners tied ships to shore as the decorations ran up the hills from the docks via lampposts and cheered doorways. Heralds of the Christmas season adorn the cityscape! The festive scene induced daydreams of future romantic encounters.
The harsh cry of the locomotive and its belch of dirty smoke awoke her from her reverie and obliterated her view to the north, dirtying all the fresh snow around the depot and interrupting her surveillance of a gardener hanging boughs of holly on Brandreth’s gazebo.
What a loathsome reminder of the grimmer and uglier aspects of life. The Hudson is no longer William Cullen Bryant’s ‘water streams never deprived by culture’, Nellie thought.
“Cornelia Rose, you’ll catch your death of cold one day. Why must you constantly hang from your window like a tenement dweller supervising her children?” Scolding, her mother materialized once again without Nellie detecting her silent, stealthy, step. Already burdened with a basket of freshly laundered unmentionables, Mrs. Entwhistle surveyed the clutter of the garret room and Nellie’s unmade bed. She needed no words; Nellie understood perfectly and hopped to work.
“Good morning Mutter,” she said, with what she hoped was a businesslike briskness, trying to shake her enchanting thoughts.
Unexpectedly, a smile crinkled Mrs. Entwhistle’s eyes. She said, “I well understand how beguiling you find the solemnity of the Octave of the Nativity. I well know ‘tis Christmas Eve and our feasting and celebrating will begin with caroling tonight. Our late night festal supper, so ebullient in its own right, is a mere preamble to the grand finale, Midnight Mass. I too, cherish the wonder and awe of the Christmas liturgy.” Mrs. Entwhistle adjusted the basket on her hip and reached a tender hand to stroke Nellie’s recalcitrant hair back off her forehead. “‘Tis a luxury to walk through life with your head in the clouds Cornelia, one enabled by your father’s hard work and industry. You must balance always this dreamy nature with hard work and industry of your own.”
Nellie opened her mouth to protest. “I most certainly do.” She defended herself.
Her mother smiled again. “Ja, ja. But in all matters, one must be a bit practical... extending to matters of the heart, such as how to select a husband.”
“Were you merely ‘practical’ when choosing a suitor, Mutter?” asked Nellie, recalling the long-ago snippets of heated exchanges she had overheard between her mother and her grandmother.
“Touché!” admitted her mother. “I fell for your father’s blunt charm and charismatic jovial personality.
“Be that as it may.” The softness left Mrs. Entwhistle’s face as she regained her point. “I have well-honed practical instincts. Let us take a moment to review your current cache of suitable men.”
“This very moment?” asked Nellie, pointing to the laundry basket and her unmade bed. Her mother sat down on the bed in reply. Mercy, how very uncharacteristic! This precise moment!
“Cornelia, your father and I are here to guide you. We have kept a vigilant eye on your stream of romantic pursuits and we feel the suitor best suited to you, the one who most agrees with our values, the most Catholic, is Elmer P. Otis, your cadet who still pines for you. He will be caroling with us tonight, and I believe you should entertain his petitions.”
“That sickly boy? Honestly, I fear the United States Military Academy has failed that lad. Their instruction and discipline serve merely to increase the number of his ailments!
“Mutter,” said Nellie, her hands begging. “I cannot summon the slightest interest in him. Not even a remote curiosity! Please, can you let his cause rest?” Prioritizing her extensive list of objections, Nellie readied herself to launch her best arguments.
But her mother stood up, picked up the laundry basket
and said, “If you continue to reject Elmer Otis we must begin all over again to find you someone suitable.”
“I confess to having a fondness for Mr. Wright. I hope I do not transgress your desires by entertaining his overtures?” Nellie asked.
Mrs. Entwhistle hesitated. She opened her mouth and then closed it. Nellie pursued. “Perhaps I am smitten by his charms, the way you were with Papa. Might we not entertain this possibility?”
“Ach du Liebe, Kind. Child, we do not like what we know of his political views. Moreover, he is not a member in good standing of our parish, like the Otis family. Ach why is the path of conformity such an anathema to you?”
Nellie’s anger rose to the bait. Tarnation! My sisters did not choose beaus from our Church either. Why persecute me? But before she could say a word, she sensed the subject was closed. Her mother’s face assumed a hard expression. From her look, Nellie could see that having said her piece, her mother’s thoughts turned back to her chores for the day, and arrangements for tonight.
Nellie closed her mouth at the sight of her mother scurrying out the door. There is certainly no practice of democracy in the Entwhistle household. This totalitarian regime affords not even opportunity for discussion.
“But what if I simply cannot abide the thought of squandering my life on a spineless jellyfish like Otis?” Nellie asked the stir of air left in the room by her mother’s rapid departure.
Her mother’s excellent hearing caused Mrs. Entwhistle to poke her head back into the room and sigh. “Very well, some accommodation might be made for such vehement feelings. I thank the Lord you at least had the God-given sense to send that devil Magruder packing.
“Aber... Ach! Mrs. Otis will be so disappointed.”
At Nellie’s pained expression, Mrs. Entwhistle acknowledged Nellie’s unspoken objection. “Ja, ja, it is not our objective to make Mrs. Otis happy. Ja.
